


an investment in tissues

by DreamingStarkly



Series: one more troubled soul [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 3+1 Prompt, Asexual Relationship, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, Shameless Shmoop, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingStarkly/pseuds/DreamingStarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>three times Karen, Foggy, and Matt each came down with the flu separately<br/>+<br/>the one time they all came down with the flu simultaneously</p><p>or</p><p>that shameless sick-fic trope perfect for more sad ace poly panromantic avocado family cuddles</p>
            </blockquote>





	an investment in tissues

 

 

* * *

_1_

_Karen_

 

Fuck, she _knew_ that scratch at the back of her throat meant trouble.

Maybe it would have been better if she had woken up and felt horrible, and was able to call in sick.  She had been sniffling a bit the past few days, but it was nothing serious. She wrote it off as a slight head cold. She went for a run before work, too, and wrote off those aches as the aftermath of a good workout. No, her body had to betray her in the middle of work, in the middle of a meeting with a client and when she had to transcribe notes for Matt.

She had felt a little woozy before stepping into the conference room, and tried to ignore it by drinking cold water and focusing on the woman’s words. Mrs. Lieberman owned a bakery that was being menaced by a gang of teenagers. Their parents, mostly white cake yuppies who never deigned to go lower than 49th Street, refused to pay damages on the basis of Mrs. Lieberman’s son shoving one of the boys after they threw a baseball at one of the windows. Matthew, or Mattie, was a stocky, quiet, dark-haired man in his early twenties, his tallit katan peaking out from below his black vest. His anger and frustration were clearly written on his face as his mother explained how the teen’s parents wanted to press charges for assault.

As Foggy encouraged Mattie to explain his view of the events that took place, Karen was hit by a heavy wave of nausea. That banana she had for a late lunch was suddenly a huge mistake.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, trying not to make it seem like she was in a rush as she stood and fled towards the bathroom.

She managed to get to the sink before she emptied her stomach. It didn’t last long, thankfully. Her muscles ached, and yeah, that was definitely a fever kind of warmth spreading across her body. Karen let herself pant over the sink before washing out her mouth as well as she could and wiping her clammy face with a damp paper towel. The mirror, long since replaced since the night she smashed it, reflected her paleness back at her.

A soft knock as she was drying her face was not entirely unexpected.

“Karen?” Matt’s voice called through the door.

“Just a minute!” she replied, tossing the towel into the trash and smoothing back her hair. Not like it would make a difference. Matt probably heard her retching from the conference room.

Regardless, she opened the door and faced his concerned expression.

“You’re not feeling well.” It wasn’t a question.

She had to bite down on trying to play it off as something she ate. Ugh, knowing Matt was a human lie-detector probably the most annoying part about being in on his superhero identity.

“I’m feeling a little better now,” she explained. It was mostly the truth, as long as she didn’t have to eat anything else. “And I can finish up with this meeting. Really, it’s no—”

“I’ll be fine without your notes, Karen,” Matt told her, fishing out his phone from his pocket. “I’m calling you a cab.”

“But what about—"

“Foggy is finishing up with the Liebermans right now,” Matt said as his fingers swiped at his contact list. The phone chirped out names until it reached _TAXI: CITY CAB_. “We’ll be fine. You need to be at home, resting.” He had the phone to his ear before Karen could protest. As he spoke with the operator, Matt pushed Karen towards her desk. Getting the hint, she walked over and sat down. Being immobile was a blessed relief. Once he finished the call, Matt made his way over to her desk and made a show of putting the back of his hand against her forehead.

“One-oh-two,” he muttered, his thumb stroking her hair above her temple before pulling away. “Do you have a thermometer at home?”

Karen tried to remember what she had in her first aid kit other than alcohol swabs and butterfly stitches. Being the partner of a vigilante encouraged personal medical stockpiles for stab wounds, not fevers. “Not sure,” she told him.

“If you do, check your temp when you get home. If it hits 103, go to the hospital.” Matt frowned. “I’ll be over in an hour, in case you don’t have one.”

Karen couldn’t help but smirk at him. “You offering to be my thermometer?”

“You have an objection, Miss Page?” he replied loftily.

“Don’t you have…” Her hand grappled for the tissue box on her desk, and she waited to clear her nose before finishing. “Don’t you have better things to be doing this evening than worry about what is probably just a mild flu?”

“I can spare time to make sure you’re not coming down with an alien plague.”

Karen made a face. “Oh, don’t tell me there’s an alien plague now. The alien invasion was enough.”

Matt laughed just as his phone announced “ _TAXI, TAXI, TAXI_ ”. He escorted Karen down the stairwell and outside to the curb, despite Karen’s protests. She may be running a slight fever, but that didn’t mean she was helpless.

That said, she was definitely fine with curling up in bed and sleeping forever when she finally walked through her door. But first she had to obey Nurse Murdock and swallow a couple ibuprofen. She did not have a thermometer, which was just as well since about an hour into her almost-immediate fever nap, Foggy and Matt let themselves into her apartment.

She woke up with a soft hand on her cheek—Matt—and a glass of water hovering within reach.

“Hey, kiddo,” Foggy said, handing her the glass as she slowly sat up. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like crap,” she admitted before taking a much-needed drink. “Nap helped.”

“Your fever’s gone down,” Matt said. “You take the Advil?”

“Yeah,” she sniffed, and grabbed for her tissue box. Foggy reached over and handed it to her.

“Feeling up to having some soup?” Foggy asked after she blew wetly and coughed. “I bought chicken broth, nothing heavy.”

Her stomach protested at the thought. “Maybe later,” Karen said. “I think I’ll go back to sleep. You guys don’t have to stay. I just need to sleep this off.”

“We’ll keep ourselves busy here,” Matt shrugged. “We planned on working on the Lieberman case in the kitchen.”

“And,” Foggy added, “we noticed you haven’t been doing your dishes. Or laundry. Seriously, Karen, you’re as messy as a frumpy college guy. Trust me, I would know.”

“Guys, you don’t—”

“Not another word! We’ll be within hollering reach for your every whim,” Foggy declared. “Except cuddling, of course. Unfortunately for all of us, I cannot risk infection.”

“Thanks,” Karen managed after a moment. Matt and Foggy both smiled at her, and Foggy tucked her in, _risking_ a kiss to her forehead before heading into the living room. Karen drifted back to sleep to the murmurings of the boys discussing litigation. Maybe it was a weird fever-induced thought, but—to her—their voices mingling over torts and civil liability was better than hot soup and ibuprofen.

 

* * *

2

_Foggy_

 

“I blame you.”

“Foggy.”

“I am dying, and I want to let you know this is your fault.”

“You’re barely breaking 100.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s higher than that. I can feel my brain boiling.”

“Actually, I—”

“Okay, okay! Superpowers include flu diagnosis, I get it!”

He was positive that Matt’s stupidly handsome face was probably smug as he stirred the pot of chicken soup that Karen had started, and Foggy was tempted to toss his shopping bag loaded with germy tissues as soon as Matt showed that stupidly handsome face. It wasn’t fair that Matt got to look so rakishly disheveled all the time and Foggy couldn’t even get a sympathy kiss out of the whole affair.

He pouted and pulled Grandma Nelson’s wool blanket tighter over his shoulders. “You can really feel my fever from all the way over there?”

“That and Karen told me what your thermometer readout was before she left.” Karen was out buying NyQuil, bless her. She had come over right after work, and threw some chicken stock, noodles, and vegetables together in a pot after finding out all Foggy had eaten that day was a banana. Problem was that little trip to the kitchen was about all he was willing to do that day, hence the lack of food. The only upside to calling in sick was watching as much HGTV as humanly possible on his couch. Matt came over not long after Karen did, switching out with her just as she made a medicine, tissue, and ginger ale run.

Matt, on the other hand, had a horrible bedside manner. He was so nice to Karen when _she_ had the flu, so yeah. Maybe Foggy was a little bit put out over the fact that Matt wasn’t quite as pampering. Granted, the indomitable Nelson constitution kept most of his flu spells mild, compared to that nasty bug Karen got. Still, his body ached and his nose was pretty much a running faucet at this point. Being sick _sucked_. It was inconvenient, and gross, and it wasn’t like he usually put himself in a position to even get sick. Again, indomitable Nelson constitution. Speaking of…

“I hope you caught the guy after all this,” Foggy muttered, maneuvering himself to rest his pounding head against the arm of the couch.

“Pretty sure I didn’t crack my rib laughing,” Matt tossed back.

Wait, what? “ _You cracked your rib_?” And yeah, okay, maybe for a second Foggy forgot about how Matt left Foggy to walk home in the freezing rain after meeting up with a client in the Bronx two days previously (the asshole _took the umbrella_ before parkouring over a fence) and his flu-addled brain skipped right to panic mode.

Matt chuckled and Foggy heard the clank of the pot lid being placed over the soup. Before Foggy could detangle himself from his blanket to demand a full report, Matt made his way back into the living room. He waved at Foggy to stay down. “I’m joking. I bruised a couple at best. Hardly something to write home about.”

“Don’t kid about shit like that, Matt!” Foggy barked, which promptly sent him into a fit of coughing.

“You keep that up, you might be the one with a cracked rib,” Matt mused, handing Foggy his tissue box after taking a seat on the other side of the couch. It took Foggy a second to grab it without making a snarky comment about good guesses. He was still getting used to Matt showing off his spacial awareness in his presence.

Once the awful itch in his lungs subsided, Foggy blew his nose and tossed the used tissue into the bag that was threatening to overflow at this point. He groaned and slumped back down, pointedly stacking his feet on Matt’s lap. If Matt was adamant about being a germaphobe, he could at least be a footrest.

Matt made a face, but didn’t shove Foggy’s legs away. Instead, he placed his hand against the sole of Foggy’s left foot.

“What are you...doing?” Foggy stammered. Maybe the fever was getting to him, but he was pretty sure Matt was about to give him a foot massage.

“You’re whiny when you’re sick,” Matt commented, digging firmly into the arch of Foggy’s foot and _holy Mother of Christ_.

“I am...I am _not_ —argh! Gentle, gentle _r_! Oh. _Oh_. Wow.”

By the end of it, Foggy’s sinuses were clear and his head was swimming like he was already on NyQuil. Like magic. Matt just smirked at him, the bastard, and Foggy was too far gone to grill him about whatever Vulcan pinch he’d just did via Foggy’s _feet_.

“Yoda teach you that one?” Foggy asked later, when he’d regained some semblance of coherency.

“Um. Kind of.”

“Spill.”

Matt shrugged. “Stick taught me about pressure points, the basics. When—well, he wasn’t around long, so I picked up some lessons here and there. It’s useful, especially when you need to disable someone without injuring them permanently.”

“I’d _pay_ to see you render the mob helpless through foot massages.”

Matt snorted and smiled. God, Foggy loved that smile.

“You sure you didn’t learn some tricks just to romance the chicks?” Foggy teased, nudging his toe against Matt’s thigh. “Or the dudes? Or anyone, really?”

His friend (boyfriend, snuggle buddy? Yeah, they hadn’t quite figured that out yet) looked thoughtful as he inclined his head towards Foggy. “Not exactly. It’s, um. I mean, yeah, I didn’t learn the foot thing to take down opponents. I learned ‘cuz it’s—it’s nice to be good at making someone feel better, sometimes, you know?”

Foggy felt his fondness grow like a billion. Matt learned to give foot massages on the off-chance he could use his kung fu skills for pleasure instead of just pain and defense. Poor Matt, he thought. Poor, twisted, gorgeous, sad Matt. “No arguments here, buddy.”

Karen showed up soon afterwards. Matt and Karen joined him in the living room with chicken soup, but both stayed a good distance away from his infected self. Which sucked, but hey. Soup and his favorite people. Being able to breathe without coughing had its upsides, too.

Okay. Maybe Matt’s bedside manner wasn’t all that bad.

 

* * *

_3_

_Matt_

 

There was a reason Matt was careful to avoid getting sick. He always washed his hands, he always got his flu shot, and he kept his distance from people whose bodies screamed infection. His immune system was even better than Foggy’s, but sometimes being careful wasn’t enough. This year’s flu strain had been particularly aggressive. Matt was almost beginning to believe what he told Karen—that it was an alien plague out to weaken the humans in preparation for an imminent attack.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he woke up four days in a row feeling like his world had been sunk underwater. Everything felt like it was slightly tilted towards the left, thanks to the pressure in his ear. It didn’t completely throw him off—he just had to concentrate on things a little more carefully. For those first two days, Matt managed to pretend that everything was normal. He popped non-drowsy decongestants and ibuprofen like candy. He hid the tissue box (and subsequent used tissues) in one of his desk drawers.

He even continued to patrol the city, which likely was the nail in his coffin now that he looked back on it. On the third night his fever peaked just as he got home from foiling a handful of would-be muggers. The readout from his thermometer announced that his body temp was just under go-to-the-hospital-right-now but definitely over the don’t-go-to-work-tomorrow threshold.

Matt was never one to back down from a challenge. He took some extra-strength Tylenol before heading to bed and prayed that his immune system would turn down the heat. He woke up shivering and sweating the next morning, but another check with the thermometer told him that the Tylenol had worked—at least, it was now at an even 100 and heading south instead of 103.

They had a meeting with a client in the afternoon, so Matt told himself that if he took it easy he would probably feel even better by then.

Probably.

Truth was that even if his fever was down, the congestion was not and the lack of sleep made it worse. The cab ride to work was better than walking, but he used the cane more than usual when he walked up the flights of steps towards the office.

He was sweating a little by the time he reached the door, the sour tang of it muted on his tongue. He muttered a good morning to Karen—he could sense his coworkers in the office, at least. She seemed busy, the shuffling of papers didn’t stop as he walked through the door.

 _One more day to fake it_ , Matt thought as his pulled his jacket off. He wasn’t sure if it was the fever or the heat in the office, but he was getting uncomfortably warm. _The fever should be gone by tomorrow._ Just as he thought about dozing in his chair until the afternoon meeting, however, Matt rammed his shoulder into his doorframe. Pain shot down his arm and he swore.

“Are you okay?” Karen said, concerned. Matt heard her chair squeak back and her footfalls approaching him as he rubbed his shoulder and ducked around the stupid corner. He tried to wave it off as a fluke, but Karen wasn’t buying it. She followed him to his desk and grabbed his arm before he could sit down. Her hand touched his hand and then went straight to his forehead.

“You have a fever.”

“One hundred, probably even 99 by now,” he told her. “I’m fine.”

“No, not fine. Not if you can’t even walk straight.” Karen’s cool hand dropped away. “Foggy?”

Matt suppressed a groan.

Foggy stepped into his office. Matt was well enough to tell that he was eating a bagel with smoked salmon cream cheese. “What’s up?”

“Matt’s sick.”

The chewing paused. “Sick?”

Matt frowned. “Just a bit of a fever. I’m okay, really.”

“He ran into the wall,” Karen betrayed.  

“I’m blind!”

The pause of silence that followed was telling. And, yeah, maybe that wasn’t the best excuse.

“Okay, but it’s getting better,” he insisted.

“How long have you had a fever?” Foggy asked.

Matt wanted to lie. He really, really did. But they’d all agreed on an honesty policy, and this wasn’t really worth lying about.

He shrugged. “A couple of days.” He heard both their heart-rates ratchet up, Foggy’s even moreso. “I told you, I’m feeling better.”

“The last time Matt came down with the flu, he hid it from everyone so long that he gave himself pneumonia.” Foggy’s voice was an attempt at light-hearted scolding, but Matt could hear the strained tones connected to the memory running underneath. “Do you want a repeat of _that_ , buddy?”

It wasn’t a pleasant memory. Back in undergrad, he had come down with a nasty version of the flu and stubbornly refused to tell anybody about it or treat it. He had thought that the NyQuil would affect his senses further. The idiotics of youth. After pretending that his worsening cough was just a fault of the dry winter air for nearly a week, Foggy had found Matt unconscious at his desk and called an ambulance. That first night at the hospital was rough, as Matt had apparently hallucinated The Accident again and wouldn’t stop screaming for his dad. In any case, it certainly strengthened their friendship, since Foggy convinced the nurses that he was Matt’s step-brother and missed two days of classes in order to keep him company. It was then that Matt had realized Foggy really, truly cared about him.

So, in this instance, Matt felt appropriately guilty. “No.”

“Then no crime-fighting until you’re completely recovered.” Matt opened his mouth, but was cut off by a finger to his lips. “Yeah, I caught your name on the morning news today. No buts, or Karen and I will have you strapped to your bed.”

Matt smirked behind Foggy’s finger. “Kinky.” His friend’s heart picked up for a second as his hand dropped away.

“You boys can do that on your own time,” Karen said dryly.

“The Liebermans—”

Foggy sighed. “We can reschedule with the Liebermans. Court date isn’t for another two weeks.” It was true, and the meeting was just to go over some paperwork, nothing urgent. Matt felt his resolve weakening. He really was tired.

Matt sighed. “Fine. Karen?”

“On it. I’ll ask them if they can come in on Monday,” she replied.

Matt let Foggy lead him outside to catch a cab home. Foggy’s hand started guiding him out of the building, and then his hand dropped like he was stung.

“Sorry, I know you can do it yourself. It’s—”

“Force of habit, I know. It’s okay. I,” Matt swallowed. He reached out for Foggy’s arm and pulled it back towards him. “I like it.”

Foggy’s hand stayed put this time, and his voice was quiet. “Really?”

“Yeah. Besides, I’m a little less.... _capable_ today than I usually am. So.”

Foggy seemed to agree, and they walked out onto the curb. He helped Matt into the cab, guiding him easily while making sure Matt’s head didn’t hit anything.

“Karen and I will be over in a bit,” Foggy told him. “You liked her soup, right? We’ll make you some of that.”

They didn’t have to do that, come over. But Matt knew that they would do it anyway. “Okay.”

“Don’t you go off trying to do…” Foggy paused, probably looking at the cabbie, “... _work_ before we get there.”

Matt tilted his head back in exasperation. “Promise.”

“Good. Or else, know. Ropes. Bed. You. Not moving.” Matt snorted. “I’m not bluffing.”

Matt wasn’t an idiot. He knew which smirk made Foggy’s heart skip a beat. So he did it again. “I’m sure you aren’t.”

“Uh…” Victory. “Yeah. Well. Don’t test me. See you in a bit.”

Matt startled a little when he felt lips brush his forehead. Foggy then pulled away and closed the door. The cab pulled away from the curb, and brought Matt home—where he obediently waited for Foggy and Karen to make him soup and pull his bearings upright. Having the flu wore on him, and it always made Matt anxious to have his other senses made dull and almost useless. But having the two of them around made it a little bit easier.

 

* * *

_+_

_Karen, Foggy, and Matt_

 

“Are you _sure_ this isn’t an alien plague?” Karen glared blearily at Matt.

The three were sprawled out on Matt’s bed, tissues slowly but surely creating a white moat around them. There was a definite danger of running out of Kleenex, but none of them had the energy to walk down to the corner store. They were too feverish to stand cuddling like usual, but they each couldn’t stand being miserable and sick alone in their own beds. So, they came up with the solution by being miserable and sick together. By the time the end of the day rolled around, Foggy and Karen showed up at Matt’s and collapsed onto the mattress.

Foggy blew his nose loudly. “Yeah, I have never gotten the flu twice in one season. Ever. In fact, I’m pretty sure no one has. That’s not bad luck, that’s a curse. Fuck, you didn’t piss off that witch chick, did you?”

“No,” Matt rasped, draping a warm, moist towel over his face. “I’ve never even met her. And I don’t think she’s an actual witch.”

“I bet it was the Lieberman case we won last month. Yuppies are definitely the types to turn to dark magic when they don’t get their way.”

“Or it was your cousins at the Thanksgiving party,” Matt suggested, his voice slightly muffled by the towel. “Kids are germ machines.”

The trio murmured in agreement just as a knock came to the door.

Karen swatted Foggy’s hip. “You’re the least sick.”

He groaned. “No fair.” But he got up anyway, taking the blanket with him. Karen and Matt yelled and complained, but eventually scooted closer together.

Foggy reached the door, blanket clenched tight around his shoulders, and asked who it was.

“Uh, Claire. Claire Temple.”

Foggy opened the door to reveal the woman, who was apparently confused to see the pale blond wrapped in Matt’s duvet.

“Hey, Matt, it’s your nurse,” he called over his shoulder. Matt’s ruffled head soon peeked into the living room, Karen following with a handful of tissues.

“I’m not his nurse,” Claire said dryly. “I’m barely a nurse, I’ve been on an...extended vacation. I just wanted to drop by and say hello.” She noted the various states of pajamas and the multiple people who were currently occupying the apartment. “Is this a bad time?”

Foggy chuckled. “I’d recommend you avoid this apartment, ma’am. We’re under quarantine.”

“The flu,” Matt amended, approaching the door. Karen had to nudge him away from running into the couch. “Ah. Yeah. Maybe another day?”

Claire raised a brow. “D’you guys need anything?”

“No, we’re—” “Actually, we are running out of Kleenex.” “Matt, you’re out of that herbal mint tea stuff, too.”

Claire hid her smile behind her hand. “I don’t mind doing a grocery run.”

Matt looked a little sheepish. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no problem,” she waved him off. “I kinda missed the whole nursing thing. You guys shouldn’t be moving around, anyway. I’ll just drop off your stuff and head out.”

“Thanks,” Karen piped in.

“Sure. Mint tea, tissues.” She flapped a hand at them. “Now get back to bed, all of you.”

Claire left the apartment with a key to let herself back in, and the three of them climbed back into Matt’s bed. Foggy dragged the blanket up and over their shivering bodies. They snuggled up to each other.

“I told you she was cute,” Foggy told Karen.

Karen looked thoughtful. “Is she single?”   

"I think the more important question is; is she poly?" 

“Really, guys?” Matt protested.

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> or 
> 
> an excuse to add Claire to sad ace poly panromantic avocado family cuddles


End file.
